


The Good Ones Always Seem To Break

by WaxyWolf



Series: The Storks [2]
Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Backstory, Coming of Age, Gangs, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaxyWolf/pseuds/WaxyWolf
Summary: Before the Storks, before the dark underbelly of the city pulled them into its clutches, Jimin and the rest of the gang had other lives. But the city is starving, and it leaves no one unscathed.Side stories from Your Silence Is My Favorite Sound, out of order and from various perspectives.





	1. We All Have A Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You understand. The hatred.” The taller glances behind himself, but keeps walking. Jeongguk takes a step after him. “You understand!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Sweethearts!  
> This universe is getting steadily more fleshed out, and I thought it deserved some backstory! This will be updated infrequently, and will probably tie into whatever is happening in the main story. you'll learn more about each charater here, and how they ended up with the Storks.  
> I hope you enjoy! Leave ideas below. 
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> Fic title from "Sky Full of Song" by Florence + The Machine  
> Chapter title from "Hunger" by the same

The city is starving. 

In just the walk from the magistrate’s office to the center of the city, Jeongguk’s seen an excess of wealth, on people and in property. Stately houses mark the roads, all white marble and brick and iron-wrought gates. Men and women bustle along the sidewalks, in thick coats and scarves made of soft wool and furs. Wealth is apparent in most places he looks in Ketterdam.

But all Jeongguk can think is, “this city is starving, and it will eat me whole.”

The houses crowd one another like a mouth too full of teeth. The men and women walk with blank eyes, speaking in whispers in a strange language Jeongguk doesn’t understand. The people stare at him, like he is some animal who will go mad at the sight of silver and attempt to rip it off their necks. 

The Magistrate had been wealthy too. Jeongguk remembers the ornate rings wrapping his thick fingers, gnarled knuckles rapping on the counter for their attention. It had only been him and five others. Only they had survived the shipwreck. They had all stared at one another with wide-eyed fear as a translator explained to them in broken Shu that they were entitled to compensation after testimony, that they could choose to sue the slavers.

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so ridiculous. Sue people already outside the law? People who probably perished in the storm already? What would that accomplish? Jimin is probably dead, and money won’t change that. Jeongguk suddenly wishes for the older boy, but he doesn’t have time for heartbreak. 

The rest of the former slaves had also shaken their heads. The Magistrate’s brow had furrowed. He had turned to the translator, angrily asking the man to explain to these foreigners that they could get money from suing. One of the Shu had spoken up, asking,

“Please, we just want to go home.” When the man had translated this to the Magistrate, he had banged his gavel once and shaken his head.

“Sorry, we don’t deal with immigration. On your way.” And they had been dumped unceremoniously into the city, with no money, no map, and no knowledge of the language. Jeongguk had quickly split off from the group. They all wanted to stay and continue to ask the Magistrate for help, but he knew it was no use. The man thought them animals, and would give no aide.

Jeongguk wonders what kind of a city made greed their religion, where the first reaction to tragedy would be “how much money can I get from this?” He doesn’t want to live in a place that believes this. He knows, greed will eat you whole. And the city is starving. He wonders what Jimin would have thought of this place.

He has no idea where he’s heading. He’s merely wandering, with no direction to his steps. He ends up in what must be the slums, judging by the jaggedness of the path and the cracked windows of the slouching buildings. The people here are dressed poorly but brightly, in plaid and checkered pants and waistcoats. Some people, women especially, are wearing next to nothing, and Jeongguk averts his eyes, blushing. Women would never dress like that in Shu Han. 

The slums seem to come alive as the sun sets, lights flickering on and the crowds spilling out into the streets. Jeongguk is jostled by strange-looking passersby, who are all more concerned with the flash and charm of the next game of chance, the next sensual act, the next, the next, the next. There are shouts heard over the crowd, and Jeongguk wishes desperately that he could understand what was happening. He wants a familiar face. He wants Jimin’s hand on his shoulder. 

Jeongguk pushes through to a quieter section, one a little less overwhelming than the throngs of shouting party-goers. He slumps against a wall, feeling the exhaustion in his feet. Hunger growls in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t have anything to buy food with. He doesn’t know even enough Kerch to beg. 

No one pays much attention to a 15 year-old boy sitting with his knees to his chest. There are too many just like him, the children of the gutters. Jeongguk wants to scream that he doesn’t belong here, that he has a country and a family. He can feel the anger alongside his hunger, a hatred of those slavers. He wants them to drown, like Jimin drowned. He imagines pale lips and blue hands, reaching ghostly beneath the waves.

Why him? Why did he survive, when so many innocent men died? Why had he lived and Jimin not? His hands curl into fists, and he forces away tears. He’s so lost and alone, the noise of the city swelling up around him. 

Then a familiar sound cuts through the muddle of Kerch. Jeongguk’s head shoots up, his tired feet forgotten. 

“...Have to make do…”

“Of course. Will you…” 

It’s someone speaking Shu! Someone who can help him! He jumps to his feet, looking around frantically for the source. He can’t see clearly through the street goers, and fear grips him, that he’s lost his one chance for help.

There! Striding into a back alleyway, two Shu men, one short and one tall. Jeongguk hurries after them, stumbling over his own feet in his haste. 

“Some day…”

“...Can’t be someone…”

The words sound like, home, like comfort in this strange city full of dead-eyed strangers and Jeongguk breaks into a run. He skids to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway. Where did the two men go? It's like they disappeared into thin air.

All of a sudden, he’s slammed against a wall, a hand at his throat. All the air in his lungs leaves in a rush, and Jeongguk gasps for air.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” says the taller, who has him pinned. He has a bandage over his right eye, and the skin around it is red and inflamed. It must be a fresh wound. Jeongguk struggles for air, too weak to try and fight the man off.

“Let him breathe a little,” says the shorter, and the hand on Jeongguk’s throat lets up, allowing him to suck in oxygen. The taller regards him with caution.

“You’re a little young to be sent to kill us, aren’t you?” he comments. Jeongguk wheezes,

“Ah-’m not here to kill you. I don’t know who you are, I just heard someone speaking Shu and I need help.” The shorter tilts his head, calculating.

“Where are you from?” 

“Busan, then I worked at a factory, but then the slavers came-” the hand drops him, and Jeongguk leans over his knees to pant, still winded. The taller crosses his arms.

“Ach, if he’s an indenture there’s nothing we can do.” The shorter nods.

“I’m not! I’m not an indenture, our ship wrecked and Kerch ships fished us out of the sea. But now I’ve got no way home, and I don’t speak Kerch and you’re the first people I saw who spoke Shu.” He looks pleadingly up at the two men. They share a brief look, then the shorter sighs.

“Listen kid,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I’m not real big on charity. But I wish you the best of luck.” he slaps a few kruge into Jeongguk’s hands. “That should be enough for a room and a meal. There are plenty of ships sailing for Shu Han, take a job as a deckhand and find a way back. Good luck, kid.” The shorter starts to walk away, the taller eying him cautiosly.

“W-wait!” Jeongguk calls, crumpling the kruge in his fist. “I want to come with you!” The shorter snorts. 

“No one wants to follow a stranger into hell. Go home, kid.” 

“I don’t have a home.” Jeongguk tells them desperately. The taller raises his chin.

“And you think you’ll find it here? The slums of Ketterdam?” he says condescendingly. Jeongguk shrugs. He bends down, so his bandaged eye is level with Jeongguk’s gaze. His remaining eye looks straight into Jeongguk’s soul. The younger boy swallows thickly, but keeps his stare. In the taller one’s eye, their is pain, but there is hope.

“...Yes.” Jeongguk answers. The taller one stares for a second more, then looks back at the shorter, who scoffs and turns back away. 

“The kids get dumber every year. Don’t waste my time, go home.” He continues to walk away, but the taller lingers a moment longer. His eyes flash, and Jeongguk is stuck to the bone with a realization. The taller’s eye holds his same anger, the burning, festering pit in his stomach. As the taller turns to follow his friend, Jeongguk blurts,

“You understand. The hatred.” The taller glances behind himself, but keeps walking. Jeongguk takes a step after him. “You understand!” The two men fade into the smog of the alley, and Jeongguk’s left standing with a fistful of kruge and an echo of his own voice.

The anger in him has cooled in the icy gaze of the taller man, and he can feel it sharpen to a point. Now, he has a goal, a location in mind. He will find these men, the ones who speak Shu. He will avenge Jimin, take his payment from the world, until the blood debt is pain for all his grief. 

He will burn the city to the ground. Starting with the Magistrate's office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you so much for reading! 
> 
> Comments/kudos are very much appreciated! 
> 
> Come find me on Twitter and share memes at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	2. Reeling Through Midnight Streets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Hoseok wants to flirt, Taehyung can flirt alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Sweethearts!   
> As I was working on YSiMFS (wow is that really the acronym?) I discovered vhope desperately needed a backstory! In their first interaction, Tae is 14 and a mess, and Hobi is 16 and a cocky punk
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> Chapter title from "Ribs" by Lorde (because I think I'm funny)

Taehyung’s grown used to the blood and occasional vomit. But the intensity of it still surprises him whenever Yoongi drags another victim of a fight gone wrong into his room. 

The other gang members sneer at him when he tends to their cuts and bruises, the strange boy hidden away, like he’s delicate. Taehyung isn’t delicate, but at 14, his face still retains its round shape from his younger years, and he doesn’t have the scars the others do. 

At least he has his own work area now, instead of a dirty storeroom next to the kitchens, loud and where people could stare at him. Yoongi’s been climbing in the ranks recently, and he’d been able to secure Taehyung his own room under the condition that the Grisha boy would act as gang doctor. He doesn’t know how to fight, how to steal, how to survive on the streets. What he can do though, and therefore what makes him worth Yoongi’s time, is his ability to heal.

He distantly wonders what will happen when he isn’t worth Yoongi’s time and care. It had taken a decent about of persuasion just to let him into the gang. Taehyung wasn’t sure if they’d take in another stray. But there’s money to be made when your men aren’t dead or lamed, so Taehyung was permitted to stay. The room he has isn't too bad either. There’s a specific creak in the floor outside his little room, and most men that come to see him are too busy bleeding to mind avoiding it. It’s a nice little warning system for when he’s got company. 

So he thinks he’s prepared for the possible blood and vomit when he hears the familiar groan of the floorboards. He straightens in his seat and tries to look useful. Maybe this time it’ll be a broken wrist. He hasn’t had to treat one of those yet. Just once, he’d like a clogged artery. No one ever lives long enough or eats enough here for a clogged artery. The door swings open, and Taehyung suddenly doesn’t care if it’s a broken wrist or a black eye. There was no way he could have prepared for this. 

A man stands in the doorway, holding his side. The most handsome man Taehyung has ever seen. In all his 14 years of living, of traveling the world, he’s never seen a boy as pretty as the one in his doorway. 

In that moment, he takes back everything bad he ever said about Ketterdam.

“Uh, hello?” Pretty Boy asks, and Taehyung realizes he’s been staring.

“Hi, yes, come on in.” Taehyung gestures towards the small table he has next to his cot. “Have a seat on my bed-bench, I mean. Bench. Have a seat at the bench.” 

Pretty Boy raises a single perfect eyebrow, but dutifully takes a seat at the table, wincing slightly when he sits down. Taehyung wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. 

“I didn’t know they let kids play surgeon.” Pretty Boy says, and oh god he’s smiling. Even his smile is heart-shaped. Taehyung is going to die.

“I’m not a kid!” protests Taehyung, grimacing when his voice cracks. Pretty Boy grins wider, and Taehyung almost whimpers. 

“Okay then, patch me up. I think I might have broken a rib falling off a wall,” Pretty Boy huffs. Taehyung nods. Broken ribs. Okay, he can do that. He can handle bandaging Pretty Boy for thirty minutes without making an idiot of himself.

He turns back around to see Pretty Boy peeling off his shirt, revealing a good three inches of tan stomach marred by a bruise, and Taehyung drops the bottle of salve he’s holding. It lands on the rough wooden floors with a crack, making Taehyung and Pretty Boy jump. Taehyung flushes bright red, frozen where he stands. 

“Are you okay?” Pretty Boy asks, his shirt half-off. Taehyung eyes catch on his belly button and he blushes harder. “Maybe you’re the one that needs doctoring, not me.” It takes Taehyung a second to realize Pretty Boy’s joking. Saints, he’s funny too. Taehyung wants to die. 

“No, no I got it. I’m fine, I’ll just-” Taehyung scoops the remains of the broken bottle off the floor. Damn, a whole bottle of bruise salve, down the drain. Pretty Boy shrugs and continues to remove his shirt. Taehyung tries not to hyperventilate. 

“I’m Hoseok,” the boy supplies, shirt tangled up in his lap. “Guess you should know my name if you’re gonna see me indecently.” That sharp grin is back with no bite, and Taehyung suddenly wants his own named rolled off that grin.

“I’m Taehyung. I’m, I’m gonna touch you, okay?” Hoseok nods in permission, settling back on his hands. Taehyung kneels in front of the bench, trying not to blush any more than he currently is. Hoseok doesn’t comment on his position, waiting patiently for Taehyung to examine him. Many a man would have made a lewd remark, and the fact that Hoseok has not makes Taehyung like him all the more. Leaning in closer, (and trying not to let his breathing become audible) Taehyung peers at Hoseok’s side. The beginnings of a nasty bruise is already forming, the skin red and purple splotched. Taehyung reaches out with a shaking hand to touch the inflamed area, almost as if in a trace. When his fingers make contact, Hoseok hisses and Taehyung jolts back. 

“It’s okay,” Hoseok exhales, “It’s just sensitive.” Taehyung puts all obscene imagery out of his mind at the statement and focuses on his work. He can stop the blood from clotting under the skin, but the ribs are going to have to heal themselves, even at an accelerated rate. He retrieves a roll of bandages, then looks up hesitantly at Hoseok. He doesn’t quite meet his eyes though, instead stopping just shy of his collarbone. 

“I, uh, I’m going to speed up the healing, so don’t freak out or anything, please.” Hoseok just looks at him with friendly confidence. Taehyung exhales, and gently, gently presses a hand across the blotchy skin. He hears Hoseok grunt, and he can feel the lump where the rib had been snapped. He focuses his power, feeling the flow of blood through Hoseok’s veins. Slowly, the bruise fades a little, sinking back into the other boy’s body.

“Oh, you’re that Grisha boy, the one Yoongi-hyung brought in.” Taehyung’s spine goes rigid, but he keeps his hand steady on the boy’s side. Most of the Storks like Yoongi, but Taehyung’s had a few guys push him around just because of his association to the quiet man. He prepares himself to be pushed away, but if anything, Hoseok leans into the touch more. 

“I like Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok declares. “He’s silent half the time, and vengeful the other, but he’s a good man.” Taehyung glances up, surprised.

“Are you always this open with your allegiances?” Taehyung asks, feeling his power flow through Hoseok’s veins. It’s strangely intimate. He reaches for the bandages, wrapping it around Hoseok’s ribs. 

“Not always. Just with Grisha boys that blush.” Taehyung doesn’t look up, but he knows what he’ll see. Hoseok is all teenage glory, locked in long limbs and puppy dog eyes. He flirts because he knows he can. Taehyung can’t help when his own heartbeat speeds up. He finishes wrapping the bandage and takes his hands away from Hoseok’s side, withdrawing his powers and hoping Hoseok can’t hear his pulse. His hand tingles with the ghost of Hoseok’s warmth, and he resists the urge to press it to his face.

“Your ribs should be healed up in three weeks, even though I took care of the swelling. Keep them wrapped tightly, and don’t do anything crazy. I can’t help you if the bone heals wrong. See me again if anything hurts too bad.” Taehyung won’t meet Hoseok’s eyes as he instructs the other boy. Instead, he focuses somewhere around his midsection as Hoseok carefully slips his shirt back on. Guiltily, he thinks about licking that stomach. Yikes.

“Thanks. It already feels better.” Hoseok touches his side lightly, and Taehyung busies himself with getting up and putting away the rest of the bandages. When he’s done, he turns back to Hoseok, who’s still sitting on the bench, watching him deliberately.

“Hey,” Hoseok smiles at him, something smug and sweet. “You’ve got pretty eyes.” Taehyung’s breathing stops. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, eyes the size of dinner plates and suppressing the urge to giggle. “What time are you free? Some boys and I found this tunnel under the old theater, wanna check it out tonight?” Taehyung doesn’t have many friends, alienated by his abilities. Is there really any question if he’d reject an invitation from an older boy for an adventure?

“I’m free right now, if you want,” Taehyung blurts out and immediately regrets it. Hoseok’s eyes sparkle with mirth. 

“I’ll come get you later this evening, yeah? Meet up with the rest of the boys, destroy some shit, cause some chaos.” Hoseok stretches his long legs off the table and hops to his feet. He offers his hand theatrically, like a Kerch mercher, and Taehyung shakes it, smiling. Hoseok pulls his hand towards himself, and presses a kiss to the back of it. Taehyung bites his lip, grinning. Game on.

“Till we meet again, angel eyes.” Hoseok looks like he’s about to laugh, but there’s nothing condescending in his eyes. Taehyung can’t help but smile back charmingly. Before Hoseok lets his hand go, Taehyung lets it trail down Hoseok’s neck lightly before pulling away. It’s a small movement, one Taehyung barely has to think about. 

“See you soon,” says Taehyung, drawing his hand back to his side. Hoseok winks at him and strolls out the door. The hallway creaks once more, and then he’s gone, the only trace of him the lingering flutters in Taehyung’s pulse. 

He wonders when Hoseok’s going to notice he left a good-sized hickey on his neck, right where his fingers had ghosted over. He wonders what exactly had possessed him to make such a claim, but he doesn’t care to think about it too much. If Hoseok wants to flirt, Taehyung can flirt alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you get the "Ribs" reference now even if you've never heard the song.  
> Comment a backstory or scenario you'd like to see next!  
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Comments/kudos are cherished! 
> 
> Come holler at me and send memes to me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


	3. Common Goal (Waiting For The World To End)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But perhaps, with him and Yoongi allied together…  
> Perhaps they can drain a little from the city without losing too much of their own blood. The tiger on Seokjin’s knife cackles, loud and clear and cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sweethearts! Welcome back!  
> Jin and Yoongi have a Lot of backstory that Jimin has no idea about. They've been running together for a long time, and I thought I'd take a look at how they first met. I've been trying to tell everyone's story, but I found I like these two so much I might write more about them before I do someone else.   
> Heads up for transphobia and some description of injury. Jin has just lost his eye, and it's because someone outed him. But no transphobia from Yoongi don't worry. 
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> Chapter title from "Black Sheep" by Metric (tho I like the Brie Larson cover better)

The thing is, spilt blood has a tendency to create more. Misery loves company, and Seokjin has plenty of misery to spare. He just hopes it doesn’t attract the wrong type of people. 

Sitting with his back against the mossy brick of some forgotten alleyway, his right eye a pulse of pain, he takes a moment to study the knife in his hands. It’s of good quality, evenly balanced with a leather-wrapped handle. It fits almost perfectly into the palm of his hand. He studies the design on the hilt with his one good eye. It has a roaring tiger engraved into the center of the hilt, no bigger than his thumb, filled in with orange and black enamel. He wonders why Abbe Vissar picked a tiger as his emblem.

It’s an expensive knife, to be sure, and Jin feels out of place just holding it. He grips it tighter in rebellion of his instincts. He owns the knife now, has paid for it with his own sorrow and trouble. The tiger mocks him from the handle. Jin squints down at it, straining to hear the laughter from behind that mouth of fangs. 

He toys with the blade, tracing the symbols of his name into the air. Large, sweeping characters that take up much more space than his former name. Seokjin. Seokjin. Jin. Over and over, watching the tip of the knife carve his name into the air. He’d picked it out months ago, but hadn’t used it until a week ago. He has only stumbled over its syllables once, asked breathless under the greenish glow of the lanterns by the canals. He will not mess up again. It still sounds foreign to his ears, but it’s a much welcomed change. It’s a breath of fresh air under all this smog.

His injured eye throbs, and he grits his teeth through the pain. The uncertainty is what hurts the most, but that could just be infection setting in. The slash had caught him straight through the center of his eye and he had bandaged it as best he could, but he’s no healer. He needs a doctor and soon, but he has no idea how he’ll pay for one, much less one that would treat someone like him. 

There’s a shuffle of footsteps from the mouth of the alley, and Jin quickly gets his feet underneath himself. He tucks the arm not holding the knife across his chest, holding his shirt flat. His ribs had ached from the bandages so he had given into weakness, just once. Once was all it took. He wishes he had those bandages now. If the person only sees a dirty Shu boy, they won’t bother with mugging him. The footsteps grow closer, the half-step gait of someone injured. Jin tenses, ready for when the figure rounds the corner. If it’s just some beggar with a limp, he might have a chance of slipping away unharried. 

Clutching the dagger with white knuckles, Jin waits for the hint of a boot peeking around the corner, knife held away from his body. He’s only killed once, with the help of sheer dumb luck, but he could do it again if necessary. The tiger roars in Jin’s ears, but it could be his own pulse. 

The boots turn into dirty pants and thin hands, all attached to a Shu boy about his age. The boy stares back with wide eyes, his ruffled black hair falling into his face. Jin notes how he doesn’t put any weight on his right leg. He keeps the knife raised, pointed somewhat haphazardly in the direction of the boy’s chest.

They both stare at each other for a long, tense moment. Seokjin would make some sort of crack about cutting the tension with his knife, but he’s too concentrated on the suspicion and surprise in the other boy’s eyes. His surprise is easily explainable; not many Shu walk in the slums of Ketterdam. 

The boy doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt him. It’s a good sign that he hasn’t attacked him yet. As the seconds drag by, Seokjin grows impatient with the standoff. If he’s going to be gutted, he’d rather it be done sooner rather than later.

“Well? Are you just going to stand there?” He banks on the fact that the boy knows how to speak Shu as well. The boy seems startled by Seokjin’s dry comment, but his shoulders come down from around his ears. 

“...Would you allow me to take a seat?” His voice is enviously deep and full of skepticism, but he sits when Jin waves his hand at a clear patch of dirt. The boy is careful with his right foot. Seokjin gestures towards his foot with his free hand.

“Trip over something?” he asks. The boy’s lips quirk up, though his face holds no laughter.

“Or something. Jumped out of a fast moving wagon, landed wrong.” Seokjin raises a brow, feeling the pull on the healing skin around his eye.

“Who did you piss off to make you jump out of a moving wagon?” The boy studies him, taking in his bandaged eye, pierced ears, torn shirt, at last landing on the ornate knife. 

“I stole a couple hundred kruge from Pekka Rollins.” Seokjin whistles lowly. The boy’s not stupid enough to show the money to Seokjin or let him know he still has it on him. 

“And who steals from the biggest Barrel boss around?” 

“Min Yoongi does,” the boy answers, the pride barely hidden in his voice. He presents his name in the normal way, not the mixed up version the Kerch prefer.

“That’s an easy way to make a lot of enemies, Min Yoongi,” remarks Seokjin. “Some might say you have a deathwish.” Yoongi shifts his weight, leaning his elbow in his propped up left knee.

“Yeah, well, some might say they’ve already made an enemy of me.” There’s a story behind that statement, but Seokjin knows which stories have endings yet. Min Yoongi’s anger is new, and Seokjin doesn’t have patience for sob-stories. Yoongi glances at him, interested despite his misgivings. 

“What’s your name?” Names don’t mean much in the Barrel, not to people like Yoongi and Seokjin whose syllables and shapes are forced to fit this strange language. Seokjin knows Shu who take on a Kerch name, to appeal to the rich merchers. But he’s already picked his name, changed once, and he won’t change again.

“Seokjin.” Yoongi tilts his head, waiting. His curiosity is intense. 

“No family name?” 

“No family who will take me.” Seokjin doesn’t care to remember much of his last few days in Shu Han. Kicked out from his home, his mother screaming at him and the neighbors staring in open mockery. He had gotten passage on a ship as soon as he could. He hadn’t cared where he ended up, as long as it wasn’t Shu Han. His story isn’t unique. Yoongi nods in understanding, even though he doesn’t know the details of Seokjin’s disownment. They settle into easy conversation, two dirty, bleeding men in a back alley. 

“How old are you?” Yoongi asks. Jin has to think for a moment, trying to remember the last time he celebrated aging another year. 

“22,” he says, “I’m pretty sure.” Yoongi huffs a laugh.

“I’m 20. Guess I should be calling you ‘hyung’ then.” 

“Don’t find honorifics often in this country.” Jin comments dryly. 

“Don’t find people like us often in this place.” Jin has to agree with him. Yoongi looks up at the grey sky. It looks a little like rain, but then again, it always looks like rain come this time of year. He rubs his thumb over the smooth metal pommel of his dagger. 

“That’s not a knife you see everyday.” Jin looks over to see Yoongi staring at his hands, squinting at the silver and enamel tiger. Jin smoothly tucks the knife out of sight, but still accessible if he needs it. In his experience, items stared at rarely last long in the hands of their owners. 

“I’m not a man you meet every day.” Jin diverts smoothly, the words almost feeling like a lie. Yoongi doesn’t let it distract him from his goal.

“Where did you get it?” Jin tenses, prepared to fight. He has claim to the knife. 

“A man on the street,” he answers vaguely. Yoongi could interpret the statement that he stole the knife, or the knife was sold to him. Yoongi’s eyes are fixed on where the knife is hidden under Seokjin’s leg. 

“Tell me this, is he dead?” Yoongi asks abruptly. Seokjin shakes his head. No, Abbe Vissar is still alive and well, flirting his way up and down the West Stave. He’s probably forgotten a mistake like Seokjin already. “Would you like to help me kill him?” 

Seokjin finds himself nodding. He has no sympathy for the man. Yoongi nods once, like he’s finalizing a contract.

“And what’s he done to you?” Seokjin asks, his curiosity growing. “Did he cut out your eye as well?” Yoongi glances at him, surprised, but it quickly disappears off his face.

“He cut out something much more valuable from me.” Yoongi clenches his fists. “And now I’m going to kill him.” He looks at Seokjin with fire, a catastrophe framed by bedraggled hair. At first, Seokjin is a little afraid. Not much good comes from angry men marching to war. But there’s something else he sees in Yoongi, something new.

“Alright then.” Seokjin says. If he’s going to follow this man into hell, if he’s going to seek revenge on Abbe Vissar with Min Yoongi by his side, he has to be honest. The last time he had hidden the truth from someone close to him, he had lost an eye. 

“Yoongi, before anything more happens, I have to tell you…” he bites the inside of his cheek. Why are the words so hard so say, even when they’ve been ringing in his head for months? “I’m not like other men.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you Grisha?” That’s a good guess, but not quite. Seokjin shakes his head. 

“No. I’m a man, but I wasn’t always one.” Everything is quiet for a moment while Yoongi chews on Seokjin’s words. 

“Can you fight?” Yoongi’s question catches Seokjin off-guard. Dumbly, he nods. “Then I don’t care whatever mistake the universe gave you. If you know how to use that knife, and you won’t stab me in the back with it, then I’m glad to have you by my side.” 

Seokjin’s never had someone tell him this. He’s never had acceptance of any sort. He’s used to fighting his way out of the ropes he’s tangled in, tooth and nail. But Yoongi doesn’t want to cage him, kill him, use him in any way. Yoongi wants blood, and is willing to look past Seokjin’s secrets to get it. 

“I’ll need a doctor first, if we’re going to go hunting,” Seokjin admits. Yoongi nods. Seokjin grins, something vicious. “The vengeful and the mistake. What a curious pair,” muses Seokjin. 

“Which one of us is broken and which one of us is vengeful?” quips Yoongi, truly smiling for the first time Seokjin’s ever seen. He’s got a point. His ankle also needs medical attention, and Seokjin’s equally thirsty for revenge. But perhaps, with both of the outcasts allied together…

Perhaps they can drain a little from the city without losing too much of their own blood. The tiger on Seokjin’s knife cackles, loud and clear and cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I kept it vague, but if you want a run-down of the full story:
> 
> Jin's kicked out because he's been sneaking out at night and dressing as a man. He gets aboard a ship to Ketterdam and makes a life there as a man. He falls in with Abbe Vissar's crowd, who run small scams and are okay with gay as long as it makes money. Jin falls for Abbe, who's charismatic and handsome and yes gay. Jin passes very very well as a guy and Abbe has no idea he's trans. They flirt around but when things get intimate Abbe finds out. Humiliated and angry, he lashes out and blinds Jin. Jin is able to fight back and escape, stealing a knife on the way.   
> As for Yoongi and why exactly he's so bloodthirsty....
> 
> Come yell at me on Twitter for answers at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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